


Noah's Extra Special Nurse

by motherbearof3



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: F/M, Father and Son, Injured Noah, Liv and Barba are married now, Noah won't be bullied, Olivia is Captain, school nurse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 10:28:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20469518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/motherbearof3/pseuds/motherbearof3
Summary: Noah gets injured on the playground at school and a special nurse takes care of him.





	Noah's Extra Special Nurse

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hasbleidy](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Hasbleidy).

> First of all, this is a birthday present for a very special member of the fandom whose birthday is September 1. I hope you enjoy this. I tried to postpone it's actual publication until that day. I hope it worked!
> 
> Second, in this story, Noah is about 9 or 10 and Olivia and Barba are married. I left his occupation deliberately vague, so choose your own context.
> 
> Third, please forgive any creative license I've taken regarding his backflip. I quit gymnastics when I was probably about Noah's age and could never do anything more than a roll on the floor! But I've watched a lot of it on television.

“Boys don’t take dancing lessons.”

The story about Prince George and the morning news anchor’s comments had made it onto the playground at PS 199. 

“Yes, they do,” replied Noah. “And they take other lessons and learn to do things like backflips.”

“They do not. Only girls do that,” the boy sneered. He wasn’t as tall as Noah, but outweighed him by about 20 pounds. But the blue-eyed son of a police officer and a lawyer wasn’t about to be bullied.

“Do not. Haven’t you ever seen football players do backflips in the end zone when they score a touchdown?”

That was one of the reasons Noah had asked to take tumbling and dance lessons. His eyes had gone wide when he saw an NFL player do a standing backflip wearing pads and a helmet. That and after attending his first Broadway musical. _ I might want to be that when I grow up _ , he’d told his father as they exited the theatre. _ Not a lawyer like me? _ the elder Barba had teased, to which the boy replied maybe he’d be both.

Noah looked around the playground. He’d just mastered a backflip that week. But not from the ground. He needed to start up higher. In his class, they practiced from a padded mat that was about 30” high. And landed on more padding. Nonetheless, he was determined to prove Tommy wrong. He spotted the wide metal platforms that rose like stairs to the monkey bars part of the playground equipment. They were open on one side and the top one was about the right height.

“They do not,” Tommy argued.

“They do and I can do one. I’ll show you.”

Noah walked over and mounted the risers. A small crowd of children had gathered, listening to the conversation between the two boys. Standing at the edge, it looked higher than it did from the ground, but Noah wasn’t going to stop now. He could do this, he told himself. And the rubber mulch wasn’t that much harder than the mats at the gym. Turning his back to his classmates, Noah closed his eyes and visualized himself doing the flip. 

“Tuck your knees and spot the ground,” he whispered to himself, opened his eyes and pushed up and off into the air.

There was a collective gasp from the children as the boy successfully completed the mid-air roll. But the rubber mulch was not as forgiving as the mats and Noah landed hard with his legs still partly bent and fell forward. He tried to catch himself with his hands, but was too close to the step he jumped from and struck his forehead on the metal edge, crumpling to the ground, eliciting another reaction from his classmates.

The impact wasn’t enough to render him unconscious, but Noah lay there for a moment, stunned. Then he pushed himself to a sitting position and put a hand to his head with a groan. He’d landed on his head before, learning things in class but always on the mats. This hurt. A lot.

“Noah, your head is bleeding!” cried a girl.

By now, blood was running down his face and getting in one of his eyes. The playground monitor, who had been explaining to a pair of kindergarteners why it was a bad idea to take their socks and shoes off came running when she saw Noah hit his head. 

Hasbleidy Lind hadn’t been at PS 199 long. She had left the chaos, stress and long shifts in a hospital to work as a school nurse and to decide if she wanted to go back to school for her masters in nursing. So far it had been a little boring, if she was being honest. Skinned knees, upset tummies, real and imagined, and a case of head lice. This was her first serious injury and encounter with the curly-haired boy and she found him surprisingly calm. Most kids would have been crying when they came in. But Noah had walked himself in from the playground, holding his hand firmly to his head. He told her he knew he needed to keep pressure on it because head wounds tend to bleed a lot. A glance at his record to check for allergies told her his mother was a police officer and she thought that probably explained his calm demeanor. That was until after he had a temporary bandage and she told him he was going to need stitches. The blood that had run down his face and soaked his shirt hadn’t bothered Noah. Nor had the pain, which was starting to lessen, from the ice pack the school nurse had given him. But when she said he needed stitches, he got a squirmy feeling in his stomach. He didn’t like the idea of having his skin sewn together. His lower lip started to tremble.

“I want my mom,” he said quietly.

“We called her, honey. But she can’t leave where she is right now. She’s sending a police car to take you to the hospital and your dad will meet you there.”

When the nurse called Rafael Barba, he said the hospital was between him and the school and it would be faster to meet Noah at the ER and that he’d spoken with his wife who was sending a uniformed officer to transport their son. 

“He’s not coming here?” Noah’s lip trembled more.

“He will be there when you get there,” she promised. “Have you ridden in a police car before?”

The boy nodded. He had, but with his mom or his Aunt Amanda. Not by himself.

“Nurse Lind, can you come with me?” 

Tears welled in his blue eyes.

The woman hesitated. She really shouldn’t leave the school, but she could see Noah was getting frightened. He had taken getting injured in stride at first, and blood notwithstanding, probably thought he’d get a bandage to show off and take his ice pack back to class. But he hadn’t seen the wound on his forehead where the skin had split when it struck the edge of the playground equipment. Despite the ice, he already had a bump and an ugly purple bruise under the gauze she’d wrapped around his head and really did need to be stitched up. She didn’t think he had a concussion but knew the doctors would assess him a second time at the hospital. 

“Let me ask Mrs. Somerhaulder if it’s okay for me to go with you,” she told him. 

A quick call to the office gave her the go-ahead. Several of the teachers were EMTs and the principal assured her they could handle anything that might happen in her absence. Besides, she joked, it wouldn’t do to get on the bad side of an NYPD Captain. When the pair arrived at the hospital, Noah looked around for his father. The admitting nurse said he hadn’t arrived, but said she would take him to a cubicle to wait.

“He said he would be here!” 

Noah was about at the end of his tolerance for having this experience without one of his parents.

“He’s probably stuck in traffic,” Nurse Lind soothed him. “Let’s go get you settled. Your dad will be here very soon I’m sure.”

The boy allowed himself to be led into the emergency department and helped up onto a bed. He was trying very hard not to cry.

“My head hurts,” he whimpered. The ice pack’s comfort had worn off in the police car.

“I know, _ niňo _, but it will feel better soon.”

She perched beside him on the bed put a comforting arm around him and he leaned into her embrace. Until his father got there, they couldn’t begin to treat him since his injury wasn’t life-threatening.

“You know Spanish, Nurse Lind?” Noah perked up slightly at the endearment he heard from his father and grandmother. “My _ Abuela _sings to me in Spanish when I’m sick. Can you sing me a song in Spanish?”

Rafael rounded a corner in the maze of emergency department corridors, looking for the numbered cubicle to which he’d been directed. New York traffic had been worse than usual, with construction every block it seemed. He felt bad enough he had to send Noah to the ER alone, but it simply didn’t make sense for him to travel past the hospital and then backtrack from the school. Olivia had agreed and it was her idea to send a uni to get him. The man paused when he heard a familiar tune being sung in Spanish. It was coming from behind the partially closed door of the room he was seeking. For a moment he thought somehow his mother had found out and beat him there. But the accent was different. He quietly pushed the door open further and saw his son sitting on the hospital bed, leaning against a woman wearing scrubs with Disney characters on them. She had her arm around his shoulders and was singing softly. He had been told Noah was all right, but the sight of the bandage around his small head and blood all over his shirt took him a little aback.

“Noah, _ mijo _!”

“Dad!”

The man rushed to the bedside and the boy went up on his knees to throw his arms around his father. The tears he’d managed to hold back finally worked their way free and streamed down his face as he sobbed into Rafael’s shirt.

“Tommysaidboysdon’ttakedancinglessonsandIsaidtheydidandcoulddobackflipsandsaidI’dshowhimbutthejunglegymwashigherthanthematandthegroundwasharderandIlostmybalanceandhitmyheadanditreallyhurts!”

“Slow down, Noah. Say that again.”

Rafael pulled a handkerchief from his inside jacket pocket and tried to set the boy back a bit so he could wipe his face. But Noah was done talking and he clung to his father.

Hasbleidy had stood from the bed and waited while father and son were reunited. Now she spoke.

“Mr. Barba? I’m Hasbleidy Lind, the nurse at PS 199.”

Rafael, his arms still around Noah, turned his head toward the woman. He was looking at Mickey Mouse on the shoulder of her scrub shirt. He tipped his head back so they could make eye contact.

“Can you translate that for me?” he asked with a sheepish grin. “I’m still not certified in crying child.”

She returned the smile.

“Noah and another boy got into an argument about whether or not boys could take dancing lessons and do acrobatics and Noah decided to demonstrate. He did the flip just fine, according to the children, but lost his balance when he landed and hit his head on the piece of playground equipment he’d jumped from.

“He’s not injured badly, but the cut needs a few stitches. He was very brave this whole time. But since you’re here now, I’ll be getting back to school.”

She reached out and rubbed Noah’s back. He sniffled and turned his head to look at the nurse, wiping his face on Rafael’s shirt in the process. His father mentally cringed but was proud to hear his son say, unprompted,

“Thank you, Nurse Lind, for coming with me and for singing to me.” 

He tipped his head back to look at his father. 

“She came with me in the squad car and sang to me in Spanish like _ Abuela _did when I was sick.”

“I heard that. The same song, even.”

“I think there’s a rule that all _ Abuelita’s _have to know the same songs,” the nurse said and Rafael chuckled in agreement. Then she said, “You’re very welcome, Noah. You were one of my best patients.”

“Thank you for everything, Ms. Lind.” Rafael tipped his head. “Hopefully we won’t be meeting again any time soon.”

His parents gave Noah permission to miss school the next day, which was a Friday. But when he returned on Monday, he went straight to the nurse’s office. Hasbleidy looked up from her desk where she had been working on reminders that needed to go home to parents that had yet to return vaccination forms.

“Noah! What are you doing here? How is your head?”

The boy had a bandage with Groot on it covering his stitches, but she could see the bruising was starting to fade.

“It’s good. Momma said when the stitches start to itch it means it’s time for them to come out,” he told her. They he held out his hands, in which what looked like a bakery box.

“_ Abuela _ Lucia made these for you, but they’re from me. I wanted her to make _ pastelitos _, but dad said you might like these better.”

She took the box from him and lifted the lid. The scent of buttercream frosting and the faint aroma of brandy wafted out from the six cupcakes inside.

“_ Dios _, Noah! How did your dad know this is my favorite kind of cake?”

The boy shrugged. 

“He knows lots of things. But he said _ Abuela _got the recipe from her neighbor.”

“Would you like one to put in your lunch box?” she offered.

“No, thank you,” Noah said. “_ Abuela _ made some for us too. Momma said I can have one after dinner if I eat my vegetables.” 

He wrinkled his nose.

“Oh, Noah, these are worth eating your vegetables. Trust me.” 

The nurse sent him along to his classroom and closed the lid on the box, looking forward to her morning coffee break. She wished all her patients were as grateful as children. Maybe this hadn’t been such a bad change after all.


End file.
